


Eternity

by hear_her_speak



Series: May You Learn [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Elvhen, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22187845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hear_her_speak/pseuds/hear_her_speak
Summary: When Inquisitor Branwen Lavellan Receives an offer from a secretive society for a profound and possibly magical creature, her curiosity sways her to accept.  Not a mage herself, she enlists the help of Solas, a man whom she has come to admire.  As the two of them ponder the nature of her new stead, Branwen begins to realize that she may have more than admiration on the mind.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Series: May You Learn [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597180
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an ongoing series about the adventures of Branwen Lavellan and her time as Inquisitor. These stories are not in chronological order, currently, though I may revise as I near completion. 
> 
> While each individual story has a different rating, this is a Solavellan centric, slow burn. Expect mature and explicit content by the end.
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to give this a read and to learn about an OC that has become so near and dear to my heart!

She was watching the army train from the steps when Cullen approached her. He had a letter in hand.  
“My Lady, Herald,” he said from behind her. She turned to see him coming down the steps. She had made the mistake of flirting with him once, in jest, and, as a result, he was incredibly formal and awkward around her. She stood and brushed herself off, unsure of herself. “There’s a matter that I believe requires your attention.”  
“What is it, Commander?”  
“Perhaps we should summon the War Council? I believe you’ll want to discuss this.”  
“It sounds serious.”  
“Not exactly.” He stumbled over his words, as if nothing quite fit what he was trying to say. “There’s nothing wrong, My Lady, if that’s what you’re thinking.”  
“I’m glad to hear it.”  
“I did not mean to worry you.  
“It’s alright,” she said as she put a hand on his shoulder. He tensed, and she moved her hand. “Perhaps you can fill me in while we walk? You’ve certainly piqued my curiosity.”  
“Of course.” He motioned before him, an “after you” gesture. They walked side by side. He rubbed the back of his head, struggling to begin. “You see, we have received an offer of assistance. I am certainly unnerved by the proposition, but not opposed. It is not the first strange promise we have received, and likely will not be the last. It comes from an organization that calls itself the Mages Collective.”  
“What is the promise?”  
They were just before the chantry doors. They stopped, and he handed her the letter. “See for yourself.”  
She took the letter and read. The handwriting was elegant to the degree it was difficult to read. Still, she managed.

“The Inquisition has need, and we would provide. We have in our possession a mount of noble spirit, fallen in battle against rage, returned to life by the boundless urge to run and serve a worthy cause and noble master. Prove what your followers already believe, that your reach is beyond this realm. That death is no barrier to victory.

Regards,  
The Collective”

Branwen put the note down, but remained lost in thought until Cullen pulled her back.  
“My Lady?”  
“Did I read that correctly?”  
“I’m sure you did.”  
“We just received an offer for an undead horse?”  
“Yes,” said Cullen. “The Messenger told me a bit more about the mount. They call it the Bog Unicorn.  
“Beg pardon?”  
“Apparently it was killed in battle when a warrior ran a great sword through its skull. Its body was lost to the mire. The creature emerged months later, partially decayed, partially preserved by the bog. The sword remains, almost like a horn.”  
“Hence ‘Bog Unicorn?’”  
“Hence ‘Bog Unicorn.’”  
She thought for a moment, then asked, “What do you think, Commander?”  
“I plan to defer to your discretion on this matter, My Lady,” he said.  
“All the same,” she said, “I’d like your input.”  
He nodded, then, rubbing the back of his head, replied. “On one hand, the thought of it seems wrong and unnatural. I can’t help but think that bringing it here - trusting it - is a bad idea. And considering the offer is from a group of mages, I'm exceedingly wary...”  
“I sense a ‘but.’”  
“But,” he said, “I admit I believed the same of you in the beginning. And now I’d trust you with my life.”  
Branwen was moved by his words, the first sure words he had spoken to her in weeks. She wanted to tell him just how much it meant to her to hear those words, but he did not let the moment linger.  
“Perhaps,” he said, “it might be wise to consult one of the mages on the matter."  
"I don’t know if Vivienne would be familiar with such magic, coming from the circles, but perhaps Solas would know.  
"He seems to know a great deal about many things. I will gather the council and inform them of this information. Come to the war room when you are ready.” He nodded at her, a curt nod. And, just like that, he was gone.  
His counsel was sound, and she decided to take it. She walked away from the chantry towards the Potion Master’s house. Solas had found his spot just outside his cottage where he could observe the Breach. His behavior perplexed Branwen, as she could not see what else could be observed from staring at the tear. But she was no expert. He sat on a small stool with his back against the nearest building, looking off in the distance. She felt her heart constrict and her stomach clench looking at him. Her hands shook.  
That’s new, she thought.  
“Solas,” she called. He looked up from his spot and, upon realizing who was approaching, stood. His movements were smooth, graceful. Her ears felt warm.  
“Hello,” he said, politely. “Is there something I can do for you?”  
“I have a question,” she said. “We’ve received an offer of a rather unusual nature from the Mages Collective. I wanted your input.”  
“I am unfamiliar with that group, but I shall try to assist you as best I can.”  
She explained the situation, and the look on his face was less than reassuring.  
“I am sorry to disappoint,” he said, “but I am not sure I can help you. I am unfamiliar with such magic.”  
“Could you venture a guess?”  
“I could, but what good would it do?”  
“This is all so foreign to me, but I’d like to make an informed decision. You may not be an expert in this field, but you’ll know more than I.”  
The corners of his lips picked up slightly. “That is wise,” he turned from her, relaxing a bit. He leaned on his palms against the low stone wall that surrounded the cottage and looked out at the Breach once more. Branwen pushed herself to a seat on top of the wall and let her legs kick slightly as they dangled over the side.  
“It is possible to bring a creature back from the dead,” he began, “Necromancy is one way, but it only brings the dead back temporarily, unless blood magic is used. I am not practiced in that art, so there’s little help I can give you. The only other possibility is that a spirit may have possessed the corpse, which could in turn become a problem. A spirit in the mortal realm may in time become a demon. We should be wary, if that is the case. However, if I spirit enters into this realm of its own volition, it is possible for its nature to remain uncorrupted, in which case, I tend to believe that nature should be left to run its course. Of course, there are exceptions.” He smiled, but his eyes grew distant and flitted up to the Breach.  
Branwen studied his face. His nose was dotted with the lightest freckles. His eyes were gray and clear. He was smiling, and his lips looked smooth and soft.  
She looked away quickly. Oh no! she thought, Oh shit! It was not until that moment that she began to admit to herself exactly what she was feeling. She admired Solas, wanted his respect and admiration, wanted to learn from him. All of that she had known, but she could gain those things from a friend. She hadn’t considered, though, the possibility that she might desire more. It had been several years since she had felt that pang of longing in her chest. She wondered if Solas could tell. He was always so perceptive. Maybe he had realized her attraction even before she had. The thought made her skin itch.  
She needed to focus on the task at hand.  
“Do you think bringing it to Haven is safe?”  
“I couldn’t say. We’ll never know unless we try, though, will we?”  
“You’re curious!” she accused, jumping off her perch.  
“And you’re not?”  
“Fair point. If it wasn’t for the fact that other people could be hurt by my decision, I’d bring it here in a heartbeat.”  
“Perhaps we could strike an accord?” he smirked. “If you bring the horse here, I will personally examine it. And if anything happens, I will take responsibility for it.”  
“Why would you do that?”  
“Because” he said, taking a step closer, “I wish to observe the beast with my own two eyes.”  
“Of course,” she laughed. Her hands were trembling.  
“And,” he said, shifting closer still. They were less than four inches apart. She could feel her face flushing. She hadn’t realized how much taller he was than her. Now that he was so close, she was aware that her head only reached his chest. “You have proven yourself to be a person of integrity. You have been kind to me. I admire your kindness. And I would like to do something for you.”  
She looked to his face then. There was something there, behind his eyes. His hands were behind his back, as they so often were, but he rocked forward slightly on his toes as if impatiently yearning towards something. He licked his lips, then nibbled them. She felt a sudden urge - like the call of the void when you stand on the side of a very high place and think I’d like to jump - to kiss him, and she began to close the gap between them. The moment was impulse, or rather, instinct, the natural desire for human connection drawing her towards him like the pull of gravity.  
But Solas’s eyes grew wide, and he jumped back, alarmed, uncomfortable. She saw the tips of his ears grow red, embarrassed.  
What had she been thinking! Of course he didn’t feel that way about her! She panicked, and a heavy stream of curses flew through her head. She needed to get out. “Ma serannas!” she cried, a little too loudly. “I really appreciate it! Really, the Inquisition is in your debt.” She began backing up. “Not that it wasn’t already, of course-” she tripped over a rock and scrambled to keep her feet underneath her. She remembered how he had called her graceful. She wished she were dead.  
“Are you alright?” He reached towards her.  
“Oh, I’m fine!” An idiot, but fine. “I need to go tell Cullen right away so he can make arrangements. I will let you know when the beast arrives.” She turned on her heels and walked briskly away, her head down, her body stiff. Please, if there are Creators, or a Maker, whichever one, let me die! 

* * * * *

She dispatched Cullen that evening. It took him three days to return with the animal. She avoided Solas like the plague for those three days.  
On the third day, when Cullen arrived, she met him at the stables just outside of Haven. Master Dennet was in a tissy, demanding that the creature be sent away. It was a sight to behold, to put it lightly. It’s body with so thin that it’s bones were visible beneath its sallow, leathery skin. It’s mane and tail were red, and she bet that the beast had been a beautiful color in life. The most disturbing thing about the creature was its face, which had tightened where it’s skin had been preserved by the bog, exposing the teeth and the bone of the jaw, and, through this terrifying visage, was thrust a rusted greatsword. She understood Dennet’s concerns.  
Cullen held the beast by the reigns. “So far, he seems docile,” he said, “but I would prefer he be examined before you ride him, Herald.”  
“Perhaps I can assist with that,” said a voice from behind her. Shit.  
She turned, and her stomach dropped. There he was, long fingers swaying easily by his side as he strolled past her. He didn’t even look at her. She’d fucked up.  
As he approached the beast, his palms began to glow as he channeled his magic. The horse bucked and whinnied, clearly startled by whatever Solas was doing. He slowed his movements and shushed the creature while Cullen struggled with the reigns. It calmed down, and he circled the beast, hovering his fingers over its body. When he had completed his test, he dispelled the magic in his fingertips. “I can sense no traces of demonic possession. Whatever this creature is, it seems completely safe.”  
“Could a mage be controlling it?” Cullen asked.  
“No. I sense no outside forces at all.”  
“How is that possible?”  
“There are many forces at work that we have little understanding of,” replied Solas, “though I would be happy to continue to monitor him for more answers.”  
“But is it safe?” asked Cullen.  
“It seems so. As you pointed out, it seems quite the docile beast.”  
“I suppose the only thing that’s left is for the Herald to decide if she wants it,” said Cullen.  
“You can’t be serious!”  
Branwen turned to see Vivienne leaning against one of the posts of the stable, her arms crossed. “That thing is a monster.”  
“That remains to be seen,” said Solas.  
Vivienne ignored Solas completely. “Darling, please allow me to assess this creature.”  
“That won’t be necessary,” he said.  
She waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “Oh, I assure you it is.”  
“I have already conducted a thorough examination.”  
Vivienne ignored him again and instead addressed Branwen. “Solas may be an expert of the Fade, but I have training from the Circle for more schools of magic than he. I am clearly the most qualified.”  
“I have no doubt of your magical prowess, Madame du Fer,” said Branwen, “but I trust Solas. If he says the creature is safe, then I believe him. If you would still like to conduct your assessment for your own peace of mind, I will not hinder you.”  
Vivienne’s lips pursed ever so slightly. Disdain and respect flashed through her eyes in equal measure as she looked down her nose at Branwen. “No. If you are confident in the apostate’s words, then far be it from me to impose.” She inched closer and, in a low voice, said, “be careful, Darling. That creature possesses a will entirely its own. If you trust it, then I do not object, but do be cautious, for all our sakes.”  
“I think I can handle a horse, Vivienne.”  
“Who said I was talking about the horse?” She smiled a smile that she had perfected in the Court at Orlais where masks were the most effective tool of the Game and walked away with the grace and dignity that Branwen so admired. She was gone before Branwen fully understood what she meant.  
She glanced at Solas just in time to catch him staring. He looked away quickly. “Commander,” he said, “perhaps we should let the Herald ride her new mount?”  
Cullen nodded and tugged the creature’s lead. It bucked again and shook free from his grasp. It reared, and for a moment she thought it would flee. It ran away from the stables, turned, and circled back, slowing to a trot right as it reached Brawen. It stood there, a few feet away, and for a moment Branwen feared it. Then, she looked into his eyes, and there was something familiar about them, though she didn’t know what. Persistence, maybe? An unbreakable will.  
It closed the gap between them and nudged her affectionately, as if it had been her horse for years.  
“It likes you!” said the Commander, surprised.  
Branwen was still nervous about the horse, but she couldn’t deny that it seemed fond of her. She was surprised to notice that it didn’t smell like she expected it to. In fact, there was hardly an odor at all. What she did smell wasn’t death or decay, but earth. It smelled like the promise of spring, of new life. She lifted a hand to pet the horse’s mummified muzzle.  
“Shall we saddle it?” Cullen asked.  
She nodded. She felt a connection to this beast. Despite its looks, it seemed a trustworthy stead. Besides, Free Marchers needed to stick together.  
Dennett saddled the horse begrudgingly. She mounted, her fear subsiding, but her stomach still fluttering all the same. The horse huffed when she sat. It’s ears were nothing more than stubs, but what was left twitched. It raised its head and lifted its tail before swatting it back and forth. Branwen clicked her heels and the horse obeyed. It followed her lead without a qualm.  
“What a sweet boy!” she cooed as she rubbed its side. Even in that short time, she felt a bond with the creature.  
“Maker’s breath,” sighed Cullen. “I can’t believe it.” 

* * * * *

Solas watched her ride, and his chest tightened. She looked so beautiful, and he could not deny the longing he felt towards her. Even so, it did not matter. He could not give in to his desires, not knowing who - what - he was. What he planned to do. His heart was his own, and he was powerless to stop the feelings that had made a home in his chest, but there was no chance of him acting on those feelings. No chance for action, no chance of hurting her. They could be friends, he would help her seal the Breach, and then he would leave before things got any more complicated. He just needed to bide his time.  
But had he imagined it, or had she… And if she had not, would he have?  
No. It was out of the question. He would put it from his mind.  
Watching her now with the mount, though, brought with it a whole new set of questions and a whole new load of guilt. He hadn’t been honest with her about the horse. He hadn’t been honest about many things, though only by omission. In his mind, they were hardly lies at all. What he had told her about the horse could, he supposed, also fell into that category, but the lines were more blurred. He had told her there was no demonic force affecting the animal. That was true. He had also said the horse was not animated by an outside force. Also true. But it was possessed by something.  
It contained within it a spirit. He was not entirely sure of its nature, but if he had to guess, he would say it was Purpose. That, of course, was way it resonated with Branwen. Who had more purpose than the Herald of Andraste? Still, he would require more time with the beast to be sure.  
Solas sensed it easily enough. He had seen things similar to the creature in his time. If he was right, the creature was possessed by a spirit who was drawn to the beast because of its nature. Something in the creature’s purpose was clear enough and pure enough that the spirit pushed through the veil to connect with it. The creature had been dead when it was possessed, so there was no violation of the spirit’s purpose or will that could corrupt it. As such, it was not dangerous. He sensed a goodness in the creature, perhaps a spirit of compassion or protection. He wasn’t sure beyond a shadow of a doubt, but he was certain the creature meant no harm, and he was certain that Cullen would have sent the beast away if Solas had told them of its true nature. He wanted the chance to learn more, selfish though it might be.  
And it certainly had good taste if it took a liking to Branwen. Even though he knew he could not allow the feelings he harbored to grow, he could not deny that he admired her. Seeing her now, watching her trot up and down the road before the gates of Haven as her soldiers cheered, in utter awe of the woman they believed was sent by the Maker, Solas was struck not by her power, but by the kindness of her smile. The warmth of her gaze.  
She circled around, stopping in front of him.  
Cullen stood by, watching in amazement. “He truly seems to have taken to you,” he said to Branwen. “As if you were meant for each other.”  
She patted the beast’s neck. “He’s a sweetheart!”  
“Every good stead needs a name,” he said.  
She thought for a moment. Solas could see her eyeing the decayed form of the beast. “An Elvhish name,” she said. “Bellanaris.” Satisfied, she nodded her head before spinning the beast around. “Come, Bellanaris, let’s see just how fast you can go! Heyah!”  
She kicked, and Bellanaris took off in a flash, kicking up snow and dirt behind him. Cullen and Solas jumped out of the way of the splatter.  
“Bellanaris?” Cullen asked.  
“It means eternity,” Solas replied.  
“Eternity?” Cullen pondered. “A fitting name.”  
Solas nodded. It was indeed. A fitting name for a creature worthy of the Herald - the most worthy woman Solas knew.


	2. Misinterpreted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a near kiss back in Haven, Branwen has been avoiding Solas for a few days. Solas confronts her, and they talk about their relationship.

They had made camp in the Hinterlands for the night, near the Dennet farm. The night was clear and cool, and the stars were shining bright. Inquisition soldiers had already made their way to the area, so, much to Branwen’s relief, there would be no need to establish a watch order amongst her companions.

She had looked forward to getting some sleep, but once she retired to her tent and laid down, she felt restless. Too many things plagued her mind: grief over her lost friends, that all too frequent ache in her chest whenever she thought about home, and now, on top of that, was the churning in the pit of her stomach when she thought about Solas. 

Branwen still hadn’t really talked to Solas since the near kiss. She was too humiliated. She had asked herself over and over again why she had done it. It was stupid, impulsive. And yet, hadn’t Solas been the one to close the distance between them? Hadn’t he bit his lip? Weren’t those signs of some deeper longing, or had she misread them completely? She didn’t know. The only thing she was certain of was that she would be content if she never saw him again. 

Her tent felt oppressive, and she needed air. She wrapped herself in a blanket and found a log outside that made for a nice seat. She sat in silence, listening to the crickets and watching the stars. They were brighter here that in Haven - less light pollution - and it made her chest tighten again. She thought of the plains and mountains of the Free Marches. She remembered looking at constellations with her adoptive father and brother. She wondered how they were, and if she would ever see them again.

Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t heard Solas approach. She started when he spoke.

“May I sit with you?”

“Dread Wolf take you,” she cried, clutching her heart, “You scared me half to death!”

He chuckled. “I did not mean to,” he said. He sat next to her, though she had not responded to his earlier question. Perhaps he knew already what her answer would be?

“We haven’t had a chance to speak recently,” he said. His voice was low, so as not to let the soldiers hear. “How are you?”

“I am well, thank you,” she replied a little too formally.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said, and she began to panic internally. “About the other day.”

She looked at her feet. “What do you mean?”

“I fear perhaps that my actions were… misinterpreted.”

“Misinterpreted?”

“That perhaps you believed I was hoping for something more between us. That perhaps that is why you... ”

“Oh.” So there was nothing between them after all? She had imagined the whole thing. Of course she had. Somehow, knowing that he felt nothing for her was worse than any heartbreak. She couldn’t admit that, though. Not to him. “No, of course.”

“Please, I don’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, it’s alright.”

“I want you to know that I respect you-”

“I know.”

“-and that you did nothing wrong.”

“Solas-”

“Please,” he stopped her, a hand held up to stay her protests. She thought of their first mission in the Hinterlands and how he had held her. How safe he had made her feel. She felt that hollow ache once more in her chest, and she was sick of it. “Bran- May I still call you Branwen?”

“Of course.”

“Branwen, I want you to know that I believe you are a good person. It was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable. I have grown fond of…” 

Fond? What did that mean? 

“of our conversations. And I admire your curiosity.” He smiled at her, and her heart fluttered. “These past few days have been dull at best without our conversations.”

“I’ve missed our time together as well,” she said, forcing a smile.

“I am truly sorry for any confusion I may have caused. I dearly hope that we may be friends again.”

“Friends?” she laughed.

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes,” she admitted, “I felt so foolish after-” She couldn’t think of how to articulate what she wanted to say. Not without feeling more embarrassed. “I thought perhaps you’d hate me.”  
“I could never hate you,” he said. 

“Fine. Maybe hate is too strong. I thought you might be too embarrassed to look at me.”

“What, like you are now?”

“I’ve looked at you,” she retorted.

He raised a brow. “A time or two, in between your rigorous study of your toes.”

She frowned. “Well when you put it like that.”  
“We almost kissed,” he said. Her mouth dropped open. “There. It is out in the open. Since you could not say it, I fear I must.”

She sputtered. “You make it seem as though it is nothing.”

“Wasn’t it?” No, she thought, but he continued. “These are trying times. We look for simple pleasures to cling to when our world feels like it is falling apart. That is what it means to be a person, to have feelings. It is a gift, but one we must learn to control. You are a lovely girl. I am a man with eyes. I am also the only elf with whom you’ve been able to make an acquaintance thus far. The reasons for what happened are completely logical. But pursuing them would be a mistake.”

“You’re right, of course. Completely,” she giggled, despite the sting. So, she was a mistake. Just what every girl wants to hear.

Solas, it seemed, read her mind. “You are not a mistake, Lethallan,” he said, “but you can do better, I think, than an old man like myself.”

She elbowed him. “I appreciate the attempt at the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me speech,’ but I think I’ll be fine, Solas. Truly. Let’s get back to the whole ‘being friends’ thing. I don’t think I can make it through this with just Varric and Cassandra for company.”

He chuckled. “No?”

“Cassandra still doesn’t trust me,” she said, “and I think Varric might be trying to use me as a character in his next book. He keeps asking really specific questions.”

“That should be a great honor!” he said, “his books are actually quite good.”

“Really?”

“I bought a copy of Hard in Hightown off of a merchant in Haven. I can let you borrow it when I’m finished.”

“I’d like that.”

They sat in silence, looking up at the stars until she asked, “Seen anything interesting in the Fade lately?

He had, in fact. They’d been walking some of the very same paths as Odette Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden. He told her as much.

“You’re shitting me!” she said, “Gods, what I wouldn’t give to see that! As a child, stories of her floated around the Free Marches, and I heard them from the humans we traded with. They were my favorite growing up. My friends and I used to play ‘Hero of Ferelden’ when we didn’t have chores. I used to carry around two sticks that I had peeled the bark from and whittled down; I pretended they were daggers because that’s what she used.”

“Have you thought about learning?”

“All the time!” she said, “but fighting up close and personal like that was unbecoming of the future Hehren. I get it, it wouldn’t have been safe. But if I could learn, I’d toss my bow right now. Can you tell me more about her?”

He did. They sat together well into the night, as he shared stories of a hero that came before her, all the while wondering what the spirits of the Fade would show future dreamers about her.


End file.
